A Father's Quandary
Fa Zhou sat silently in his darkened living room as the embers in the hearth slowly burned toward their demise. Ever since his wife and daughter had gone to bed, he had taken to polishing the battle armor that he intended to take with him in early morning hours to meet his new commanding officer. He glanced down at his own reflection within the blade of his sword, noting how age had not been kind to him. All men had a solemn duty to report and despite his age and degrading health, he was to be no different. He sighed as he sat the sword to the side and looked deeply within the fading fire. He laced his fingers and rested his chin upon them as he contemplated what horrible timing the Huns had. His daughter, Mulan, was in desperate need of guidance, although, he was not sure, as a man, what sort of guidance he could give. Mulan was of the marrying age, and had not found a husband suitable to her. His wife had scolded him and told him that it was actually the other way around: That a man had not been found for whom she would be suitable for. A small smile crept across his lips. His daughter was not the fragile lotus flower that most women aspired to be, and he to his chagrin, he realized that his daughter most likely took after himself. He shook his head. It was not…suitable for a young woman to be so headstrong and vivacious, yet…He could not help but be amused by it endlessly.
…which was why today troubled him so. Mulan had been cheerful, overly so. Zhou knew his daughter better, and when he questioned his wife about it, she shrugged and said that Mulan was probably disheartened about his travels. They had referred to it as travel within the family as no one wanted to admit the morose truth of the matter; that he would probably never return home to see his wife and daughter again. This all brought a certain amount of uncomfortableness and awkwardness in his interactions with his family as they all pretended nothing of the sort. He would never let them know what frustration and sadness this wrought upon his own heart. This would mean his vile younger brother would have access to the family estate and most likely remove his wife and Mulan from the premises. He could even sell Mulan to a less than honorable man. He would not tolerate such madness, but in death, he was without voice.
He sank in his chair. The world seemed incredibly weighty and nothing seemed to bring solace to his tortured mind. Minutes seemed like hours, and when a fitful sleep came, it was a blissful solace.
~oOo~
Zhou awoke with a start as the sound of panicked neighing and baying farm animals shattered the silence of the night air. He reached for his sword, only to realize that his armaments were mysteriously missing. In a panic, he grabbed his cane and made his way to the door as fast as he could, cursing his ailments along the way. He reached the entrance to their home just in time to see their daughter, Mulan, race away from the family estate on horseback. It only took him seconds to realize what had happened. Zhou's knees gave out from underneath him, and he collapsed at the threshold, holding his head in his hands.
As his witts returned to him, he propped himself up with his cane, and began the trek to the barn with every intention of chasing his daughter down. He only made it half way there before a horrible thought struck him: Would their family be better off if he were to remain there and Mulan went to war?
He swallowed the bile in his throat. It was nothing, but pure and utter selfishness and cowardice, he swore as he took another weakened step. No father would send his daughter off to war in his stead. If his only daughter perished, he would never forgive himself. He took another step before he stumbled over something in the darkness, causing him to crash to the ground. Tears flowed from his eyes as he gripped the dirt and grass underneath his fingertips and pushed himself into a sitting position. He knew he had twisted his ankle.
Reality struck, and the ancestors were cruel. There was never any question of whether he would return from war, was there? He laughed in bitterness. He could not even make it to the barn. Instead of crying for help, Zhou looked to the stars, beseeching them for answers.
If he remained at their estate, he could protect his wife, her mother, and his daughter...if she returned, he thought bitterly. War was a horrid place where most men died from exposure or disease rather than battle. He shuddered. The horrors she would face would be like nothing she had ever faced before. How could he let Mulan face that barbarity?!
His daughter would also not return the same person, he realized. He had seen men from war who had been kind hearted when they left, abuse their wives and children upon their return. They turned to drink as a dark demon seemed to haunt them from within. Seeing death is never easy. Killing another soul was another matter entirely.
Yet, the same echoing thought continued: If he died, who would protect the women under his roof? Who would save his daughter from becoming a concubine or worse, a whore after suffering poverty? Who would protect his wife from the horrible abuses of his brother? And how could he leave any of them without a home? Who would provide for them in his absence? He tore his eyes away from the stars and stared down the beaten path than Mulan had taken. If he died at war, Mulan would have no home to return to.
Four lives versus the life of one. It was a very bitter pill to swallow.
The men in the village would certainly give him no respect, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the well-being of his daughter. He looked back to the stars, imploring his ancestors for Mulan's safety. Tears of bitterness flowed down his face like a mighty river and his heart ached like it never had before. Mulan had thought some of these very thoughts, he realized. She was clever. Too clever for her own good. She knew the dire straits her family was in, and in order to save them all, she looked at death in the distance and rode toward it. An inkling of pride swelled up in Zhou's heart, but it was again consumed by another wave of grief. He wept for the girl who left and the ghost that would return. He mourned his own cowardice and his failing health, but most of all, his own damnable weakness. He would not seek pardon from his ancestors. He did not deserve their forgiveness.
He collapsed upon the wet grass, and wept until morning when one of the farm hands found him on the road. When the hand wanted to get him medical attention, Zhou declined and asked the man to carry him to their ancestral shrine. There, he prayed until his wife found him and wept alongside him.